


Ugly and Mean

by Thunderhel



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 19:13:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18834964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderhel/pseuds/Thunderhel
Summary: Kent had pictured meeting his soulmate a million times, but all those cheesy romances had never prepared him for how awkward it was when the universe suddenly grabbed a total stranger and told you they were your perfect match.





	Ugly and Mean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super into Patater but I have an Idea and I couldn't rest until it was done. Kind of a bare bones fic that will probably have a part 2 eventually.

Kent Parson never said he didn’t want a soulmate.

He’d tried out the lie once or twice, but despite his best looks of indifference everyone had seen right through him. After all, it really was such a cliche. Everyone who didn’t have a soulmark said they didn’t want a soulmate. You were pathetic if you admitted you wished you had one, and somehow even sadder if you lied and said you were happy without one. 

Damned if you do and damned if you don’t. So Kent kept his mouth shut in public and only lost sleep once or twice a week wondering what might be. 

Jack had a soulmark. 

It was a tiny little thing, written in a looping font across his collar bone. The words dainty and small along the expanse of Jack’s chest. Kent’s hand fit perfectly over them, blocking them from his sight and from his mind anytime they found themselves alone and Jack’s shirt lay forgotten on the floor.

_“Careful, the maple pecan is hot!”_

It was such a funny and random statement, just unique enough that Kent knew it belonged to someone sweet and sentimental. The kind of person who would get lost in the soft curve of Jack’s smile and who would make him laugh that surprised sort of gasp he did whenever he thought something was funny. Kent didn’t know who would tell him to be careful of the maple pecan, but Kent doubted he was going to get along with them. 

It didn’t matter in the end, not when everything went to Hell with a hand grenade. Kent had been told that wasn’t the saying, but he found it more appropriate. Kent went to Nevada and Jack went to rehab. Kent tried for days, calling and texting and calling again for good measure, but Jack didn’t answer any of his attempts. When he finally broke down and called Alicia her voice was soft when she answered. 

_“I’m sorry honey, he doesn't want to talk right now. He’s doing better though. I’m sure he’ll call you when he’s ready.”_

Her voice had been so soft and so _motherly_ that Kent had called his own mother just seconds after thanking her, just to feel grounded somewhere that wasn’t the flashing lights of the city or the oppressive heat of the desert. Vegas wasn’t home yet and his best friend had almost died and there was no one to talk to except his mother in New York and he felt like the entire hockey world had turned its eyes to him when Jack remained firmly behind closed doors and he didn’t know what to do. 

He didn’t tell his mother that. Just told her he wanted to talk, his voice echoing off the tiles of his bathroom as he perched himself on the edge of the tub. She had rambled about her day and asked about his new cat and his new place and his new team, and when his ankle had itched he had scratched it without thinking much of it. 

It was hours later as he changed for bed that he saw the smudge of black just above his foot. Later he would be embarrassed about how long it took him to realize it wasn’t some dirt he had picked up from the walk home. He nearly tripped over his own feet in his excitement to read it, to finally know where he was supposed to be in the world. 

The writing was thick and ugly looking, like it had been scratched by someone who already could barely make a straight line attempting to write while they were riding on the back of a horse. It took him five minutes to understand what it said and then the weight of that statement hung heavy on his shoulders.

A few guys on the team had soulmarks out in the open. 

_“Is this seat taken?”_

_“Excuse me, I think you dropped this.”_

_“Your dog is adorable, can I pet him?”_

But Kent had never been anyone mundane or normal enough to earn himself such a statement. Because scratched on his ankle, in an angry and aggressive scrawl, were his words, harsh and biting. Kent stared at the ink in the silence of his apartment, his heartbeat in his throat and his chest aching with an emotion he couldn’t identify. 

When he found his breath, he couldn’t stop laughing. 

Jack was gone, at least from him. Kent had gone first in the draft and he had the eyes of the world on him, and he was thousands of miles from anywhere he had ever called home in a city they called Sin. And now he had a soulmate. There was nothing about the situation that was funny in particular, but all together it felt like a _riot_. There were tears in his eyes and he didn’t know if it was relief or fear, but either way it felt good to let it go.

Because Jack Zimmermann could keep his reclusive ways and his boring maple pecan lover. 

Kent Parson had a soulmate, and they sounded like they was going to be _fun_. 

**_X_ _X_ _X_**

Kent knew, on a logical level, that the arrival of a soulmark had very little to do with when you found the person. The mark could appear at any time, from ten minutes before you met your other half to 50 years prior. 

Kent was a lot of things, but patient was not one of them.

When one year turned into two and then three, Kent found that life with a soulmark was just as unmiraculous as one without. Time when by and people called him all kinds of names -a good deal of them he would warrant were valid- but no one lined up with the chicken scratch insult etched into his ankle. He had a couple of flings, both with people who had marks and with people who didn’t, but none of them that lasted or really felt like anything at all. Nothing like Jack. Kent tried not to think about Jack if he could help it.

Jack, meanwhile, had found the tiny southern blond who was worried about him burning himself on a homemade pie, and Kent wanted to be happy for him. Maybe he was. Things like emotions were always so tricky to navigate that he prefered to just let them pass him by as he did his best to move onto the next thing in his life. 

The Falconers were in the Eastern division, which meant Kent only had to cross paths with Jack and his band of attractive but venomous teammates twice a year. Kent had no idea if Jack had been telling his teammates stories about him or if they had just always hated him this much and he had never realized.

It was the probably the later, as he was well hated throughout the league and Jack had never been a gossip. However the most obvious answer to things tended to be more boring and less forgiving to him, so he chose to embellish and lie to himself where he could. 

The game was brutal, but he’d never played a game against the Falconers that wasn’t. Jack was everywhere and St. Martin and Robinson were as violent as always. They were deadly with their shots and and crosschecks Kent knew the ref had let at least three interferences slide. The Falconers side of the ice was no better, with six tons of a Russian defense line that made it very clear they would love nothing more than to pummel Kent into the ice, and a snarling goalie who never seemed to be able to shut up. Kent had to give it to him, despite his pretty face Snow was the scariest goalie Kent had ever gone up against. He did what he had to do to get the win, but getting anywhere near the Falconer’s crease felt a bit like ignoring a well worn “Beware of Dog” sign. 

One day he was pretty sure Snow was actually going to bite him.

For the time being Kent had managed to survive the game without contracting rabies, and had even managed to get two of the three goals earned by the Aces past Snow personally. 

And then all Kent wanted to do was make it back to his hotel room and pass out before midnight. Their flight was at 7 and if he was going to have any shot of sleep tonight he needed to leave now. He had talked to the press longer than anyone, had gotten stuck discussing Toddy’s injury and Macer’s suspension and now he was on his own.

It was such an unsettling thing, walking around a stadium that wasn’t his home turf. He always felt a little too open, like he was going to get jumped at any turn instead of probably just glared at by Falconer’s staff. He was exhausted but the unfamiliar territory had him on edge so that when he heard the footsteps behind him he jumped enough to nearly drop his bag in his haste to turn around. He hadn’t fully made a circle before he heard the voice, a thick accent that he recognized immediately as Russian even if he couldn’t tell the player. 

“Fuck you, you little Rat!” 

The insults continued a verbal berating that Kent couldn’t keep up with -but he definitely heard the word _Snow_ in there- because approaching him with all the grace of a grizzly bear was Alexei Mashkov. Starting legendary enforcer and starting defenseman for the Falconers.

Kent wasn’t sure of Mashov’s exact stats, but he had to have half a foot in height on him and he didn’t even want to know how many pounds. Mashkov could kick his ass if he wanted to, but that was nowhere near Kent’s greatest concern. There were a few guys that Kent might have been nervous to find himself alone in an away stadium hallway with but Mashkov wasn’t one of them. He was a brute, a force to be reckoned with on ice that had sent more than one other player limping off in his career. But he wasn’t an idiot. He probably had a few more choice words for Kent, but unless Kent really crossed a line he couldn’t imagine Mashkov risking everything for the satisfaction of an off-ice hit. 

Mashkov was unhappy, a deep frown pulling that giant mouth of his down in an unattractive scowl and his arms were crossed as he stopped a few feet from Kent. But the open hostility and spiteful fury that was usually found on ice was gone, nothing but annoyance and maybe a begrudging respect in the tightness of his jaw. Mashkov was the kind of guy who meant it when he shook hands and said good game after the final buzzer. What he wanted with Kent now, he had no idea, but he didn’t care.

Because Alexei Mashkov had said his _words_.

He had also said multiple series of other words after that, but Kent hadn’t heard. 

He had felt warm a moment ago, but now he thought he was going to sweat right through his Under Armor shirt. Had he remembered to put on deodorant? He couldn’t recall. 

Rather than letting himself be pulled down that rabbit hole, he leaned against the nearest pillar, and exaggerated looking around at the empty hallway before looking back at Mashkov with a grin. Mashkov rolled his eyes.

“Looks like it’s just us, guess you’re gonna have to fuck me yourself.” 

For half a second, Mashkov was disgusted, rocking back on his heels enough to put him an inch farther away from Kent, before the realization struck across his face like lightning. 

Kent’s heart was hammering in his chest and he had to swallow twice to hold his smirk in place. He had pictured this moment a lot of ways, but never had his palms been so sweaty. 

He tried to remembered everything he could about Mashkov; born in Russia, maybe a year or two younger than him but not by much. He was the Falconer’s PR’s golden boy, usually the leading face in their media posts despite not being an alternate. He was one of the few guys in the league who knew how to talk to a camera. 

And he was so big. 

Mashkov’s face was still frozen in shock, eyebrows arched high and mouth slightly parted as he stared at Kent like he might be able to provide some sort clarification on what was happening. Kent could not. 

“It’s you,” Mashkov finally said after an agonizing pause. 

“Looks like it.” 

Neither of them moved, still just staring at each other with a far larger space between them than was probably warranted for such a discussion. 

“Lucky you,” Kent continued, unable to stop himself from filling the silence. There were too many thoughts running through his head and if he let any of them settle he didn’t think he would be able to breathe because this was it. This massive Russian with the broad shoulders and the square jaw and curl of dark hair sticking to his forehead still wet from the showers, was his soulmate. 

He thought he might throw up. 

Mashkov finally, _finally_ , rolled his eyes again. With one hand he pulled aside his collar, baring a stretch of dark lines in Kent’s neat and tiny handwriting. “Why you have to be so gross? You know how much chirping I get for this?”

“You spoke first,” Kent fired back, hardly stopping to think about it. “Your literal first word to me was fuck, so I think you kind of had it coming.” 

Mashkov winced. Or maybe Kent should be thinking of him as Alexei. Maybe not yet. 

“You have point.” Mashkov shifted on his feet, and Kent thought it was halfway between endearing and a shame, the way his posture had changed so drastically into something so awkward. “I’m sorry, about that. Didn’t, uh, didn’t come out here to actually fight. Saw you walking and wanted to say good game but, Snowy my best friend. If you would hurt him, I would have to break something. Not personal.” The words were apologetic, but nothing in his tone was, and something about it made Kent like him all the more for it.

“I respect it. You should keep that goalie on a leash though. I think he’s straight up gonna bite someone one day.”

“He’s got the mask. Works like muzzle. He’s much worse without it on.”

Kent laughed and Mashkov smiled at his own joke, or maybe at Kent laughing. He wasn’t sure. 

He had pictured this a million times. Had pictured someone screaming at him in a fit of rage and Kent saying some shitty line back and then and then -

Well he had pictured something like an 80s movie, with music swelling and their hearts pounding like a marathon and then a heated and possibly angry makeout session against the nearest surface. In at least 60% of his scenarios it had been raining. 

It had never been this awkward. 

“Did you...Like you knew you were gay right? This isn’t a realization for you or anything is it?” 

Mashkov’s frown clarified what he thought of Kent’s tactlessness better than anything he could have said. “Yes. I’m know. Not really something I shout around.” His eyes widened and he made a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Not that that’s bad thing,” he rectified quickly. “Works well for some people. I’m glad for them.”

Kent nodded along. He had no idea how close he and Jack were, but he assumed they were at least work friends. Jack was a hard guy not to like once you spent a few weeks training with him. Which brought up another layer to their already stilted first meeting. 

“You and Zim- uh, I mean Jack-”

“We used to fuck,” Kent finished, throwing dynamite in the shallow hole Mashkov was trying to dig them deeper in.

Mashkov frowned again at Kent’s brutal craseness. If they truly were supposed to spend the rest of their lives together then Kent figured it only made sense he expose Mashkov right off the bat to what Kent was. 

He had always been a sink or swim kind of guy. 

“Not what I was going to ask but, yes. We don’t have to talk about that, if you don’t want to.” 

“We don’t?” Kent asked. His voice sounded strange in the emptiness of the stadium around them. “What do we have to talk about then?”

Mashkov shrugged. “Whatever you want.” Mashkov bit his lip, and for the first time Kent lost control of his thought process.

It was so easy, terrifyingly really, to picture them in bed together. Kent had never been nervous when it came to sex, not since his days with Jack, and he couldn’t imagine Mashkov would be any different. With those giant hands and that deep purr of an accent, Kent knew it would be a good time. 

The sex wasn’t the concerning part.

Because the more he let himself think about it, the more the word soulmate was echoing in his head. Mashkov was awkward and uncertain of himself but Kent could see what he would look like when he wasn’t. He could picture just as easily Mashkov laughing what was sure to be an obnoxiously loud laugh at a dumb joke he told, or using those giant hands to push his hair out of his face, or that giant mouth pressing delicate kisses along his cheeks and-

And Kent couldn’t breathe. 

All the times he had pictured meeting his soulmate, he had never thought he would be so scared. It was stranger really, standing across from him, and the universe had just told them both that they belonged together. 

“Do you leave tonight?” Mashkov asked, shifting from foot to foot.

Kent swallowed, trying to keep his posture easy as he pushed himself off the poll. “Nah, tomorrow morning.”

Mashkov nodded, glancing out the giant windows that overlooked the parking lot before looking back at him. “I know is late, and you probably tired. But, there is diner, pretty close by. We could...talk.”

Kent was silent for probably too long, before he adjusted his bag and nodded. “Yeah. I gotta head back to the hotel and change, but I can meet you there.”

They finally both had to move, stepping into each other’s spaces to exchange numbers, and Kent was struck once more by just how big Mashkov was. His hands were warm and gentle when they brushed against his as they traded phones back. 

“Okay,” Kent nodded. He desperately searched his entire repertoire for something clever to say but came up empty. “I’ll text you when I’m there.”

“Okay.” Mashkov nodded. “That...okay.” He took a step backwards, facing Kent as he backed off rather than turning away. 

“Cool, see you there.” Kent was exhausted, both from the game and from the unexpected toll of meeting his fated lifelong partner, and he didn’t have the same reservations about turning his back. He needed to regroup before he could meet with Mashkov. He needed to clear his head and get himself back on track. He needed-

“Hey, Parson!” 

Kent turned around, more reluctant than he would have liked to admit. Mashkov was still facing him, hands in his pockets and his head tilted to the side. He was smiling again, and for the first time Kent felt like it might have been a real one, big enough that it seemed to split his face in two like a cartoon character. It was ridiculous, and Kent tried not to find it as endearing as he wanted to. 

“You still a rat,” Mashkov told him. “But you’re a cute rat.” 

Kent Parson did not blush, but if he felt a little warmer in that moment then there was no one around but himself and Mashkov to know. He threw his arms out in as welcoming of a gesture as he knew how. “You’ve got my offer tattooed on your chest, don’t know how much more direct I can get here.” 

Mashkov’s laugh was exactly how Kent had imagined it, loud and booming even in the vastness of the stadium hallway. When he looked back at Kent his eyes were crinkling from how huge his smile was, and his cheeks looked darker than they had a moment ago. 

“See you soon, Kent Parson.”

Kent saluted as he took a step backwards. “See you later, Soulmate.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like I said at the beginning this will probably have a part 2 but I make no promises on when that will happen. Thank you so much for reading my half thought out excuse of a fic and come visit me on [**tumblr.**](https://dexondefense.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
